


Family is What You Make of It

by Mareepysheepy



Category: South Park
Genre: (Craig has one entire beer), Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Family Drama, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Character Death, Underage Drinking, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareepysheepy/pseuds/Mareepysheepy
Summary: Tweek loves the Tuckers. They offer a warm, wholesome family environment that his own parents seem incapable of providing. Best of all, they produced Craig who Tweek is certain is probably the best person in the world.But when the Tucker family receive news of a treasured loved one passing away, Tweek finds his role as an honourary part of the family testing both his limits, and his views of the world around him.





	Family is What You Make of It

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for this monster of a story. I flirted with the idea of breaking it into chapters, but I couldn't. I just haven't written it structurally as a multi-chapter story.

 

Tweek doesn’t want to be _that_ kind of horrible, clingy, needy boyfriend. He knows his anxiety can act up, convincing him that Craig hates him and wants to break up and he’ll never be able to love again and he’s going to be lonely because Craig is _everything_ and why does he never tell him that- but generally he can recognise it now and at least manage it.

Craig is just so damned _attentive_ though. He always seems to be at Tweek’s side whenever he needs it, making him feel safe and warm and strong. He provides comfort in a way that Tweek has never known before. It’s in the key that he pressed into his hand with a meaningful look in his eye. It’s in the arm around his shoulders when he needs touch. It’s in the steaming paper cup that materialises within his grip when he needs the reassuring wash of coffee down his gullet. And, usually, it’s in the lightning-fast response he receives to every text.  

Except today is different. Today, Craig isn’t responding lightning-fast. He isn’t responding at all.

Tweek starts off well, trying not to let it bother him after half an hour has gone by without a response. He reasons with himself that Craig may still be asleep. After an hour has slipped by, he sends another text. He’s fairly confident that Craig will be awake at this point, but his phone doesn’t buzz or light up. He forces himself to leave it alone for another half an hour before caving, texting Clyde instead to see if Craig is at his and maybe his phone is dead or something? Or they’re watching a movie? 

His heart leaps out of his chest when his phone chirps in response and he swipes the screen to see what the message is, but it’s just Clyde saying that he hasn’t seen or heard from Craig this morning. Tweek frowns to himself, mouth pulled into a grimace of worry. He bounces his knee up and down rapidly, mind teetering on the edge of worry. 

After fighting it off with logic all morning, the weirdness of receiving radio silence through from Craig finally gets to him around one in the afternoon. It’s a Saturday and Craig should have been up hours ago. Tweek has sent six messages and received a grand total of zero back. His thoughts start zooming around his head like loose ping-pong balls; he casts his memory back to last night. He and Craig hanging out, kiss goodbye… nothing there that gave away that Craig was angry with him. Nothing could have happened between then and now, surely? They’d sent a couple of sleepy texts last night, but they were normal.

A sharp sting of pain drags Tweek from over-analysing his memory. His eyes shift from the middle-distance to where he’s bitten the nail on his thumb too low and drawn blood. Scowling, he sucks it into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue.

Irrational anger sets in. Tweek knows it’s irrational, but frankly, he’s pissed off that Craig seems to be ignoring him. He doesn’t know what he’s done. He knows he’s not exactly the best offer the world has to give to a guy like Craig, but if he’s grown bored of him, the least he could do is tell him instead of dragging this torture out. 

It’s half two when Tweek’s phone rings. Tweek snatches it up. On seeing Craig’s face decorating his screen, Tweek’s brow sets in firm indignation.

“Oh,  _hi_ ,” Tweek says as he answers, pleased with the level of passive aggression that’s dripping from his voice. He’s about to say more, maybe something about Craig _getting his messages, then!_ when Craig speaks up.

“Hey,” He says in a slightly wobbly, slightly raw voice.

Tweek sits up bolt upright, kicking himself for being an absolute ass. “Craig? What’s wrong?”

Craig coughs a bit on the other end. Then sniffs. Then clears his throat. Tweek has never heard him like that before. He knows instantly that Craig has been crying. He feels panic spike inside him: Craig doesn’t cry. Craig is the strongest person in the world. Craig doesn’t cry.

Forcibly he reins it in, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. Craig needs him to be strong, not focussed on himself.

“Craig?” He prompts again, gentle.

“I ah- shit,” Craig says. Tears have made his voice even more nasal than usual. It sounds like he can hardly breathe. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you sooner it’s just… uh. Grandma. She died-” he breaks off to clear his throat and Tweek’s heart flies to him. “She’s not been that well lately, but dad got a call at three this morning to say that she’d been found…” Craig’s voice dips into silence. Tweek waits for him to say more, but gets a noisy swallow instead.

Tweek doesn't know what to say. He never met Craig’s grandma, but he knows that Craig thinks the world of her. From what he’s heard she is- was- the quintessential grandma. She liked to bake, and knit, and doted on her big, strong, smart grandson. Sometimes she’d flip people off in the supermarket, which Craig thought was absolutely awesome. Craig had wanted him to meet her when she visited this Christmas. Had wanted to finally introduce his boyfriend that he was very, very proud of, but hadn’t told her about until now because she was a bit old fashioned. They were going to do it the day after Christmas Day. Craig was going to take his hand and introduce him. Tweek was going to make his best effort to look neat and tidy -a pale green shirt correctly buttoned and an ironed, darker green v-neck sweater. Grandma Tucker might have looked a bit surprised, maybe even a bit upset, but she would have seen how happy Craig makes him and would have been proud that he makes such a wonderful boyfriend.

Tweek feels his own tears rise. He feels sad. Sad for Craig for losing this woman from his life, and sad for himself for never having the chance to meet her. Tweek rarely sees his own grandparents. His grandpa on his dad’s side is as bad as his dad for useless stories that don’t have any outcomes, and he sees his grandparents on his mom’s side every couple of years. They’re nice in a vague, wishy-washy sort of way, but he has cousins who live closer so there’s no room for him to nudge too much into their affections.

It’s not about him, Tweek reminds himself. Craig needs him and that is more important than anything in the world.

“Do you want me to come over?” Tweek asks. He doesn’t want to assume that Craig will say yes. It’s his choice to grieve however he needs. Tweek just needs him to know that he’s there for him.

“Yes please,” Craig replies in a small voice. He pauses to take a slightly shivery breath. “I’d appreciate that.”

Tweek’s on his feet from the first syllable, pulling his shoes on and grabbing his key. He’s down the stairs and out the door by the time Craig has finished speaking.

—

 

Mrs. Tucker answers the door. Her face is red from tears, but she carries the look of grim determination that only a strong woman can pull off. She’s a mountain lioness seeing her cubs through a hard winter, and right then Tweek loves her more than ever.

She looks grateful to see him, which makes him feel even better. “Come on in, Tweek. Craig is in his room.”

Tweek nods. He fidgets, suddenly aware that he came straight here and hasn’t bought anything. Was he supposed to bring something?

“I’m… um. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Tucker,” he says softly instead, absurdly nervous.

Mrs. Tucker’s expression softens even more. For a moment her eyes glisten with tears, but then she steels herself again. “Thank you, sweetheart. Go on up. I think he needs you.”

Tweek nods. He catches sight of Mr. Tucker at the kitchen table with his head cradled in his hands as he walks in. The atmosphere in the house is awful. It’s like a heavy pressure system has settled over it, bringing an unnatural silence with it, thick and cloying. Tweek scolds himself for being spooked by it. He needs to be the grown-up right now. He needs to be the strong one.

Mounting the stairs two by two, Tweek quickly makes his way to the landing. He turns with unconscious ease, and moves to stand outside Craig’s door. Hesitantly he knocks twice, a quiet rap of the knuckles.

“Tweek?” Craig calls out quietly.

Figuring that’s enough of an invite, Tweek pulls the door open and steps in. He feels nervous, but it’s overwhelmed by how much he want to see Craig.

He finds Craig lying on his bed, flat on his back. Tricia is curled up to his side, her head resting on his chest and her arm dangled over his ribs. Craig has an arm slung around her shoulders and she appears to be asleep, breathing softly against his hoodie. In any other circumstance it would be extremely weird. Craig and Trish communicate mostly through sarcastic comments and one finger salutes. Neither of them are particularly affectionate people, lest of all with each other. But when the need calls for it, Craig is still a big brother and -in his own words- he doesn’t _hate_ Trish.

Craig looks over at him and sketches a weak smile onto his face.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says, sounding so, so tired. Tweek’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Tweek replies, keeping his voice low. He makes his way over to Craig’s bed. As he does, Craig reaches out with an open hand which Tweek takes without question, curling his fingers around it firmly. After a moment of dithering, Tweek moves to join Craig and Trish on the bed. He curls into Craig’s unoccupied side and drops an arm around his waist. Trish barely stirs.

“Thanks-” Craig starts, but his voice hitches. Tweek says nothing in response, opting to squeeze his waist in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Craig moves to wrap his arm around his shoulders in a mirror of how he’s holding Trish. After a breath, he seems to have composed himself again. He cranes his neck to smudge a kiss to Tweek’s forehead and continues talking. “Sorry, I know I’m acting weird.”

“What’s weird about being upset?” Tweek says. He doesn’t move his head from the crook of Craig’s shoulder, but he does his best to give him a little nuzzle. “You’re human, Craig. It’s okay to feel this way or whichever way you need to.”

Craig swallows noisily. A pensive silence falls over them. Tweek feels himself twitch. The silence makes him feel uncomfortable but it’s not his silence to break.

Eventually, Craig sucks in a breath. “I’ve never… lost anyone before,” he says slowly, softly. “Well I lost Grandpa Tucker when I was really young, but I don’t remember it. He was just never there and… I don’t think he was the best dad. I mean, dad doesn’t talk about him much. But Grandma she’s- she _was_ always cool. My dad’s side of the family is kind of… lame. I think she was proud that me and Trish have our heads screwed on, unlike her other grandkids.”

“Well of course,” Tweek smiles, squeezing his waist. “You’re really smart, really cool, handsome… she had a lot to be proud of.”

Craig lets out a little huff of a laugh. He doesn’t tease Tweek for the shower of compliments. Instead he squeezes him and kisses his hair. “Thanks.”

The silence is a little easier this time. Trish stirs in that silence, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. If she’s surprised to find Tweek to the other side of her brother, she doesn’t look it.

“How’re you feeling, brat?” Craig asks.

Trish grunts and flips him off in a casual flick of the wrist. “How come you get to cuddle with Tweek?” She pouts.

“Because he’s dating _me,_ not our entire family,” Craig replies, deadpan. It’s not the first time he’s protested such a thing and Tweek thinks that it won’t be the last. It’s taken a lot for Tweek to get used to the fact that Craig’s family seem to really, genuinely love him. He’d figured before that they’d sort of just got used to him, but over the last five years he’s -dare he say it- started to feel like he’s an honourary Tucker.

“Whatever. Tweek will hug me, won’t you, Tweek?” She climbs over Craig, sitting beside Tweek’s legs.

“Sure I will,” Tweek smiles. It’s taken a lot to feel this comfortable around the Tucker’s, but he really, genuinely does. Behind the deadpan snarking, and the rude gestures, and the lack of overt, emotional declarations is a warm and loving family. Tweek secretly cherishes that he’s been allowed into it, so it’s without any hesitation that he sits up and opens his arms out to Trish.

She doesn’t even hesitate. She throws her small frame against Tweek’s bigger chest and buries herself there. Tweek circles his arms around her and squeezes gently. It’s a familiar situation to have Trish squished against him. She usually does it to annoy Craig. But this time it’s unfamiliar. This time she hiccups with her entire body and a hot, wet feeling starts soaking through Tweek’s shirt. She shivers in his arms and before Tweek knows what to do, she’s sobbing in big shudders. He holds her silently for a minute before he feels the bed shift behind him. Craig’s arms slip around his waist and he forehead lands on his shoulder. He doesn’t shudder like Trish does, but Tweek knows that he’s crying.

Ordinarily Tweek would panic. Ordinarily Tweek would feel the pressure of being relied on so much. But this isn’t ordinary. Tweek knows that he’s needed by these people that he loves, and that is the most important thing in the world to him.

Mrs. Tucker comes in with a soft knock ten minutes later and finds both of her children still wrapped around Tweek. She sends him a grateful smile when he looks up and asks him to stay for dinner.

 

—

After his initial tears, Craig grows distant. To begin with Tweek writes it off as paranoia, but when he checks back through his messages for the sixth time that day he’s certain that Craig is texting him less. He’s gone around to see him every day since Craig phoned him to tell him the news. Every day, Craig sees him, but his mind is elsewhere.

It even extends to school. Craig had text the news to Clyde at some point leading to Clyde gently breaking the news to their circle of friends (minus Cartman) on the Monday. It’s a relief for Tweek that he doesn’t have to do it, but as the days go on, he finds himself feeling frustrated. He wants to step up and be the best boyfriend in the world for Craig, but Craig keeps pulling his hand away and grunting answers. After holding Tweek like a lifeline that first night, now he just seems to find Tweek a nuisance. Worst still it’s all come out of nowhere. Wildly, Tweek wonders if Craig is mad that Tweek saw him cry, but he knows that Craig isn’t that silly.

Tweek knows that logically Craig should grieve how he needs to, but it feels like his form of grief involves excluding Tweek. It’s selfish to feel hurt by it, but that’s just how Tweek feels. They’re supposed to be a team. That’s what couples do: they take the bad times with the good. What was the point of dating and expressing love for someone if you don’t rely on them when things get hard? Tweek relies on Craig all the time. Does Craig think so little of him that he doesn’t think he can rely on Tweek in return?

By Thursday, Tweek has grown sick of agonising over it. He knows that he should let Craig grieve in his own way. He also knows that he’s being selfish. But he also, also knows that this nauseous cocktail of shame, hurt and frustration bubbling inside him is rapidly growing toxic and if he doesn’t address it, he’s going to end up doing something he regrets.

He finds Craig sitting on the bleachers. There’s a scattering of kids doing practise, but it’s too cold for most to be outside on such a bitter day. It’s clear that he wants to be alone; he cuts a miserable, solitary figure, hunched down in his seat and bundled up in a thick hat and scarf.

“Hey,” Tweek says cautiously as he approaches, feeling the cold himself.

“Hey,” Craig says back. He barely looks at him, which makes Tweek feel a sting of hurt. It swiftly blossoms into anger, a small, sharp spike of irritation.

For Craig’s sake, he forces it down. “Whatcha doing out here?”

“Nothing,” Craig mumbles back, kicking the back of the seat in front of him.

“Well if you’re going to do nothing, why don’t you do it in the warm?” Tweek asks. He moves to sit beside Craig and nearly startles out of his seat when the cold bites his arse in a fierce nip.

“I like it here,” Craig mumbles.

Tweek stares at him for a moment. His frustration bleeds over again, hot and sticky. Barely, he forces it down. “Craig…” he says instead. “I know you’re hurting, okay? So… talk to me, please.” The last comes out as a desperate-sounding plea. Tweek mentally kicks himself for it.

“Tweek… don’t push it okay?” Craig replies.

“So you admit that there’s something?”

“Goddamn it!” Craig says more forcefully as he kicks the seat again. There’s a small flare of anger there. Fine, let Craig get pissed off. It beats being shut out.

“I don’t get why you won’t talk to me!” Tweek pushes.

“Just drop it, okay?” Craig bites out. His eyes rise to take Tweek in and Tweek is shocked to find genuine irritation there.

Craig’s anger fuels his own. He’s indignant. How dare Craig make him sad and worry like this, and then be annoyed with _him?_ It _hurts_. “No I won’t drop it. I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, but all you wanna do is shut me out!”

“That’s not true,” Craig snaps.

“Yes it is! You’ve barely spoken to me all week!” Tweek argues back, voice loud and shrill with strain. “What? You think you can’t rely on me? That I can’t support you like you support me?”

“Shut up, Tweek,” Craig says in a low voice. His glare is molten hot and for a moment Tweek is taken aback by it.

“Don’t you tell me to shut up!” Tweek shouts, getting to his feet. “ _Fine_. If I’m so useless, don’t rely on me. Just use me for all of the superficial things, whatever. I thought what we have is meaningful but I guess I was wrong.”

He rushes off, eyes wet with angry tears. It hurts. He hurts. Craig has always said that he believes in him, but clearly that’s not really the case.

Anger sustains him until he’s walking home from school on his own. Then the guilt sets in, hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Alone, bag clasped in his hand, Tweek slows his angry stomp home. The anger in him rolls over and dies, revealing its yellow underbelly of guilt. Craig hurt his feelings, but he got so caught up in the worry and hurt that he’s ended up attacking the boy that he loves. Attacked him when he’s grieving. Jesus Christ, he’s an awful boyfriend. No wonder Craig doesn’t rely on him.

Tweek rushes the rest of the way home and fishes his phone out of his pocket as soon as he’s reached his room. He has no idea what to say, but he has to say _something_.

_‘Craig I’m so sorry. I care about you so much and I did something awful to you. I’m really sorry. I understand why you’d prefer not to rely on me.’_

 He’s still clutching his phone when it jumps in his hand, the music of his ringtone nearly making him drop it. He knows without looking that it’s Craig. He swallows a nervous, sick feeling down, stomach churning with dread. _This is it. This is where he finally breaks up with me._

“Hey,” Craig says into his ear instead.

“Hey,” Tweek answers meekly.

Craig sighs deeply on the other end. “Don’t think stupid stuff, okay?” He says.

“Huh?”

“I know you can’t entirely help it because of your anxiety, Tweek,” Craig says. His voice is softer than it was on the bleachers. Kinder. “But don’t think stupid things. What we have isn’t superficial, and I _do_ rely on you. I rely on you more than you know. 

Tweek swallows, although the tightness in his throat makes it hurt. “You were right to be angry with me earlier.”

“I don’t care who was right or wrong, Tweek,” Craig replies. “Maybe you have some right. You’re not wrong about me avoiding talking to you. I have been.” He sounds uncomfortable admitting it. Tweek feels his heart clench with hurt.

“But…why?” He asks, his confusion clear.

“Because… because I feel so low, Tweek,” Craig says. Tweek doesn’t doubt it. The sadness in Craig’s voice is so raw that Tweek can’t help clutching his shirt as his heart gives a sharp _pang_.

“Craig, I know that you were close, but I want to be here for you. If you’re sad, that’s fine. I can be here for you, supporting you however I can,” He says, utterly sincere.

“I know you will, Tweek. I need you to,” Craig trails off for a moment. He’s hesitant when he starts again. “I’ve needed you all week and pushed you away. It’s idiotic, I know but I just…”

Tweek figures something out then. Something he’s been missing all week. There’s something more to this. Mourning a beloved Grandma is perfectly fine and normal, but for Craig to react like this suggests that there’s something bigger at play and Tweek has been too stupid to spot it. 

“What’s really got to you, Craig?” Tweek asks, soft but firm.

Craig sighs again and sniffs once. “Okay. Okay I guess-” he breaks off, forming his words. “Tweek, I loved my Grandma but you know how she never knew about us? Every birthday and Christmas she’d ask if I had a girlfriend and we’d always say no. It really pissed me off. I wanted to talk about you and show you off but… I don’t know if you know but my family on my dad’s side is pretty conservative. The kind of conservative who think God hates Fags and that family planning equates to murder.”

Tweek winces. He’s heard bits and pieces from Craig and Trish, but he hasn’t really pictured the reality of what that looks like. They are sheltered in South Park and sometimes it’s easy to forget that.

“That’s okay, Craig. I already knew that your Grandma didn’t know about us,” Tweek tries.

“Yeah I know. By divine fucking coincidence we were going to introduce you this Christmas weren’t we? But this had to fucking happen. I had to lose her before I could show her how happy I am with you. I wanted to tell her for the longest time and now I’ll never get a chance.”

“Craig…” Tweek says softly, lost for words. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. It was stupid to push you away, especially when I knew how you’d be feeling about it. I just- I feel so shitty about the fact that she never knew. That there was such an important part of my life that I didn’t share with her. I want you to be a Tucker someday, Tweek, and I never got to tell her that.”

Tweek blushes at the connotation, but doesn’t push back against it. He likes the thought too much. “Craig,” He says instead. “It’s really okay. I know I freaked out at you, but what you’re feeling is totally understandable. I think it’s wonderful that you loved her so much. I wish I could have met her properly.”

“Thanks, Tweek,” Craig replies. He sounds a little bit relieved. “That’s the other thing too. I’m barely talking to my dad.”

“Huh? Why?” Tweek asks, alarmed. 

“I dunno how to say this, but originally he asked me not to invite you to her funeral. I wanted you to be there because I need you, but my dad said no. I didn’t get it and I still don’t because I know he loves you, but my mom had to go and argue with him to convince him to say yes.”

Tweek feels that little stab of hurt again. His relationship with Mr. Tucker has improved massively over the years. Mr. Tucker even calls him his second son, so the fact that he doesn’t want Tweek at his mother’s funeral stings like lemon juice in a papercut.

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“Sorry, Tweek. I really don’t get it but… it really would mean a lot to me if you could come with me to her funeral. I mean, you don’t have to. It’s in Oklahoma and I know you didn’t know her so there’s no pressure, and my family are assholes and-”

“Of _course_ I’ll come, Craig,” Tweek interrupts him. “Of course I will.”

“Oh. That’s cool, thanks,” Craig replies.

There’s a beat of silence. Tweek takes the first step to clear it. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes, please,” Craig replies.

—

 

The funeral is held the following Thursday. Both Craig and Tweek are granted special leave from school to attend which Cartman thought was unfair until Tweek and Craig both landed a double-whammy punch to the gut that left him winded on the floor and biting back tears.

They wave goodbye to Tweek’s parents on the Wednesday morning, the Tweaks seeing them off with pastries and full thermoses. The journey is very long and very quiet. Mrs. Tucker and Trish try their best to keep the atmosphere in the car light, but none of them can cover up the fact that they’re heading towards a funeral. Tweek spends most of the journey holding Craig’s hand or arm as they both read to kill time. Occasionally they talk quietly to one another but it feels unpleasant to disrupt the still atmosphere within the car. Trish comments from time to time on the scenery, especially as the Colorado mountains give way to the new, flatter views that Kansas offers, but after hours of the same pass by the newness wears off.

They stop in a motel just outside of Stillwater, Oklahoma. Craig’s parents trust Tweek and Craig to share a double to themselves, correctly guessing that twelve hour car journeys and impending funerals do little to fuel the sexual curiosity of teenage boys. Their trust ends up being well-placed indeed since all Tweek and Craig manage to do after eating is take it in turns to shower and then crash out on their bed.

They’re woken by Craig’s alarm the next morning, still set for school. They’re both surprised that they slept so well in the end, Tweek especially.

“Who knew that long car journeys were the key to getting you off to sleep,” Craig says with a small smile as they share a morning coffee in bed. “You’re like a baby.”

Tweek rolls his eyes. “I’ll pass on doing it much in future, thanks. I’ve got a headache from not having enough coffee yesterday.”

Craig snorts softly and flips the channel onto the local news. “It’s probably a bad sign to be getting headaches from _not enough_ , babe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tweek responds, rolling his eyes. It’s nice to sit in bed with Craig like this. It feels relaxed and intimate without carrying any of the weird, stomach-squirming sort of feelings that being in bed with Craig has incited lately. It’s nice. Tweek wishes that they could stay there all day.

They watch the news quietly, commenting from time to time on how different it feels to Colorado news. There’s fewer stories about aliens and time travelling immigrants, but it definitely carries its own brand of weirdness. Craig eventually slips out of bed with some reluctance. He nips out to fetch breakfast as Tweek prepares more coffee and when he returns laden with bagels, they share a quiet breakfast at the small table in their room.

When they’re done and their trays are binned, they take it in turns to shower and dry off. They help each other to dress in their black suits in another intimate, but gentle experience. Craig buttons Tweek’s shirt, Tweek smooths down Craig’s suit jacket and neatens his collar, and they both straighten one another’s ties. He has to coax Craig into leaving his hat off and uses his fingers to arrange Craig’s hair, secretly revelling in the feel of it under his fingertips.

“Do you think mom will have room in her bag for my hat?” Craig asks. The slight inflection in his voice gives away how unsettled he is. His hat is a security blanket. They don’t talk about it, but they both know that’s what it is.

Tweek smiles warmly at him. “Why don’t you ask?”

Craig nods. “Yeah.”

If he was going to say anything else, it’s lost when a knock sounds at the door. They share a look and Craig goes to answer.

Mr. Tucker is at the door. He too is already in his suit. “Morning, Son,” he says.

Craig grunts and nods.

“Morning, Mr. Tucker,” Tweek pipes up.

“Good morning, Tweek,” Mr. Tucker smiles a thin, wan smile back to him. “Craig, I was wondering if I may speak with Tweek alone?”

Craig’s entire form tightens. He visibly draws himself up and Tweek is suddenly struck with the image of a bear standing to defend her cub. “Why? What can’t you say in front of me?”

“Craig, please,” Mr. Tucker says, sounding tired. “I’d just like a chance to talk to him.”

“No,” Craig says, tone sharp and harsh. It makes Mr. Tucker visibly flinch.

“Craig,” Tweek jumps in. Honestly, he’s dreading having a talk with Mr. Tucker and he’s still carrying a fresh scab from the hurt of not being wanted here today. But the man has lost his mother and he probably doesn’t need or want arguments with his son the day that they bury her. “Craig, why don’t you ask your mom about your hat?”

Craig gives him a long look, studying him. He’s still drawn to full height and for a moment, Tweek thinks he’s going to refuse him. Then, suddenly, he deflates slightly and nods. “Okay.” He steps around his father and heads out of the door, but not before he shoots his dad a warning look.

When he’s gone, Mr. Tucker steps into their room and closes the door behind him. He looks unsure of where to put himself so Tweek fidgets with his sleeve and says: “Do you want to sit down?” in a nervous rush.

Mr. Tucker nods and sits on the edge of the bed. Then he pats the spot next to him after a second thought. Tweek considers refusing, but thinks better, moving to sit beside him. He keeps a safe distance though. Enough to remain polite anyway.

Mr. Tucker looks unsure where to start. He runs a hand through his thinning, red hair and suddenly Tweek is struck by the thought that he looks very small.

“Tweek,” he starts. His voice is heavy with emotion and he stops to clear his throat. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Tweek blinks, taken by surprise. “I’m… not sure-”

“Yes you are,” Mr. Tucker cuts him off. “I’m sure Craig told you that I asked him not to invite you today. That must have hurt to hear. I’m sorry, kiddo,” he says. His voice is soft, and Tweek is sure that he’s sincere, but hearing it confirmed picks at the scab and makes the hurt sting all over again.

When Tweek says nothing, Mr. Tucker carries on speaking. “I really am sorry. I was honestly just trying to protect you both. I know it might look like I was ashamed… first asking Craig to withhold your relationship from his Grandma, and now here at the funeral, but I’m not. I promise you I’m not ashamed, Tweek.” He breaks off to look away, shaking his head. “No… that’s a lie. I _am_ ashamed, but not of you and Craig. I’m ashamed of my family and of how they might treat you both at my own mother’s funeral. And I’m ashamed of myself for thinking it was more important to protect Craig’s feelings than be honest. I know how cut up Craig is about his Grandma never knowing about you two. I loved my mom, Tweek but she had some pretty old fashioned views. I couldn’t stand the thought of her hurting Craig’s feelings. Now I wish that we’d managed to tell her. No matter how she’d reacted, Craig wanted her to know and I stood in the way of that.”

Tweek doesn’t know what to say. Instead he feels like he’s compelled by something he suspects is love to place a hand on Mr. Tucker’s shoulder. Mr. Tucker startles slightly and shifts to look at his hand. He smiles a little bit and moves closer to Tweek, throwing an arm around his shoulders and drawing him into a side-hug instead.

“Thanks, kiddo,” Mr. Tucker says. “I really am truly sorry. I know I’ve had my moments, but I’d like to think that I’ve come a long way from where I was. Craig needs you here today and as far as I’m concerned, you’re a Tucker too.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tweek says, looking at his lap and feeling humbled.

Craig re-enters, pausing in his steps when he sees them like that. Mr. Tucker straightens up and flips Craig off. “Relax, I’m not applying thumb screws.”

Craig flips him off in return, but Tweek is relieved to see a small smile tugging at his lips.

Mr. Tucker squeezes Tweek once and let’s go, getting to his feet. He stops to rest a hand on Craig’s shoulder. “You look good, Son. Your Grandma would be proud of how you scrub up.”

Craig swallows hard. Forces a small smile. “I guess.”

Craig _does_ look good. In other circumstances, he’d be making his way onto Tweek’s phone background, a premonition of the handsome man he’ll one day be. But now is not the time. Now he is a boy at his grandmother’s funeral in a suit that looks slightly too big for him because he can’t stop slouching.

“We’ll head out at nine, Okay?” Mr. Tucker says, taking his hand back and heading to the door.

“Sure, Dad,” Craig replies. He waits until the door clicks closed and turns to Tweek. “What did my dad have to say?”

Tweek sighs softly, running his fingers through his hair to tidy it. “He’s worried about his family, Craig. He doesn’t want them to say something hurtful to us. That’s why he didn’t want me to come.”

Craig sighs heavily in an explosive puff of air. He sits beside Tweek, making him bounce on his spot. “I kind of guessed that,” he admits. “But it still hurt. I know his side are assholes, but we don’t need protecting.”

“Maybe we do,” Tweek says softly. “For all its faults, South Park is pretty supportive. We’ve never really had anything super nasty said to us.” It was true. When they’d started middle school some of the North Parkers had sent a few, disparaging comments their way, but the total confusion that they’d received from the South Park kids had quickly nipped that in the bud. Tweek and Craig were, after all, South Park’s favourite young, gay couple. None of the South Park kids even comprehended bullying attempts so the North Park kids had quickly let it go and grown to accept it themselves.

Here though, they are very far from South Park and if Tweek is a honest, he’s a little worried.

“We won’t be here for long,” Craig nods. “If you’re lucky, you can meet some of my inbred cousins.”

Tweek laughs at that. “Craig, don’t be an ass.”

“I guess I should be thankful that you’re used to Mom, Dad and Trish,” he sighs. “And fine. Before you say anything, I’ve made up with my dad.”

Tweek nods, rising to his feet and offering his hand. “Good. He’ll need you today, Craig.”

Craig takes his hand and allows himself to be pulled up. “And I’ll need you.”

Tweek nods and squeezes his hand. “You got me.”

 —

 

There’s eyes on him as soon as he takes his seat between Craig and Trish. People no doubt scrutinising him, digging into their memories to recollect if Thomas’ lot had another son they’d forgot about. Maybe adopted? Or some distant family member who’d chosen to sit with them? Whatever confusion they have, Tweek is pretty sure that gay boyfriend doesn’t rank highly on their list of first-guesses.

He can’t help but feel uncomfortable. He wants to take Craig’s hand, but doesn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. Instead he opts for clasping his hands together and setting them in his lap. There, he squeezes his hands together, using his thighs for extra power when he needs the distraction.

Craig is silent and stony-faced next to him. He stares ahead at the coffin and nowhere else. Tweek figures it’s a sensible approach, but can’t stop his eyes from darting around nervously.

Some of the family are sobbing even before the priest comes out. Tweek feels an absurd guilt for not crying too. She must have been a good mother and grandmother to invoke such grief though. When he thinks of his own grandparents he feels bad for thinking that he wouldn’t react like this.

Craig remains statue-like beside him throughout the service. Tweek’s vaguely Catholic upbringing helps him through some of the prayers but he can see from the passionate way the others recite that he’s definitely the only Buddhist here. He sort of knows that there’s some soil throwing, but it’s his first funeral and all he knows is what he’s seen on TV. He steals glances at Craig, checking in that he’s okay, and seeking guidance wherever he can because he doesn’t want to mess anything up. 

It’s as they start lowering the coffin into the grave that the dam bursts. Several family members sob noisily and hold one another close. When Tweek looks to Craig he sees twin trails of tears tracing down his face. He remains mostly silent, the slight pickup in his breathing the only giveaway that he’s holding back small sobs.

Unable to help himself, Tweek reaches out for his hand. Craig glances at him, bottom lip giving the tiniest tremble before he steels his expression. Craig turns his hand over and laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly. In that moment Tweek realises that he is a lifeline. Suddenly there is nowhere in the world he’d rather be. Not when Craig needs him.

The warmth he feels turns cold in his belly when he notes a few pairs of eyes on them. Not everyone, of course. Most of the family’s attention is on the coffin being set in place. But some are definitely looking their way, open sneers and looks of horrified disgust on their faces. Tweek feels his heart sink, but he doesn’t let go. He can’t let go. He’s never seen anyone look at him like that before and he’s suddenly sure that he’s never going to forget those expressions, but Craig needs him to hold his hand, so that’s what he’ll do until Craig wants him to let go.

They sit still as mourners rise to their feet and toss dirt onto the coffin to say their goodbyes. Some throw flowers in with it. Tweek sits on his free hand in an attempt not to fidget. He has a sinking feeling that they’re waiting until last because Mr. Tucker has sensed the looks that he and Craig are getting too. He tries to tell himself that it’s just paranoia, but the gnawing in his gut doesn’t cease.

Finally Mr. Tucker stands. Like obedient dogs, the rest of them stand with him and follow him to the graveside. Tweek watches as Mr. Tucker whispers something through otherwise silent tears and throws dirt into the grave.

A voice stops them when Craig moves to do the same. “I don’t know how you think it’s appropriate to allow that boy to send her off, Thomas.”

Tweek looks around, startled. It’s one of the stragglers. He has hair just like Mr. Tucker’s and sports a thick, wiry ginger beard. He’s tall and wide and looks generally very imposing with his thick brow and sharp, hawk-like eyes.

“Excuse me, Carl?” Mr. Tucker says, turning to face him with an expression that sits dangerously close to resignation.

The man -Carl- draws his lip up in a sneer. “I don’t know how things are done in _Colorado,_ ” his mouth caresses the word like a favourite swear, “but around here we respect our family. Allowing your son to show himself up with this… _display_ at your own mother’s funeral _._ It’s downright disrespectful.”

“What I _allow_ my son to do is none of your concern, Carl,” Mr. Tucker snaps. “My son is mourning his grandmother and if holding his boyfriend’s hand helps him through it, that’s all that matters.”

Carl looks aghast. “You mean to tell me that your son is a Goddamned _faggot_ and you allowed him to bring his faggot _boyfriend_ to my Aunt’s funeral?”

 

There’s an explosion of noise around Tweek. Mrs. Tucker screams “ _What did you just call him_?” at the same time as Craig launches himself forward and shouts “ _Don’t you fucking call him that!”_ Mr. Tucker barely grabs Craig in time, yelling something that Tweek doesn’t catch. He feels something hit his side and in the clamour he instinctively moves to lash out, barely stopping himself in time when he realises that it’s Trish. She presses up against him, scared and selfishly, Tweek is grateful for the grounding she provides. She’s scared and it helps Tweek to keep his focus. He wraps his arms around her and holds her to his side.

“-parading this _filth_ around as a good woman lies in the dirt!” He catches Carl saying.

“You’re a fine one to talk!” Mrs. Tucker spits. “At least our son isn’t in _prison_!”

“No he’s just on a one-way journey to Hell and you sent him off with a wave, I bet. We told you, Thomas. We warned you what marrying a woman like that would do to you and now your only son is a Goddamned fudge packer!”

Thomas lurches forward with a snarl, fist raised.

“Will you all pack it in?” An older woman barks. Somehow she brings a stupefied silence to the group. Tweek finds her scarier than this Carl person. She’s small and her bones are prominent on her arms. Her chest is like a bird’s and she holds her fingers curled like a crone. Her steel grey hair is perfect, not a lock out of place, drawn up tight in a bun that reminds Tweek of a strict librarian. 

“This is my sister’s funeral, not a schoolyard,” she says in a firm voice. From the way she speaks and carries herself, Tweek doesn’t doubt that she’s used to getting her way. “If you want to fight go elsewhere, but for goodness’s sake don’t do it at my sister’s grave side.”

Both Mr. Tucker and Carl look away from one another. They look like scolded twelve year olds and Tweek suspects that’s exactly where they’re currently locked in their memories.

“Now, the Lord only knows why you tolerate this ridiculous behaviour, Thomas, but the boy is young and your mother loved him dearly so I’ll chalk it up to grief addling your brain. But I want no more of this boyfriend nonsense. Not today. Do what you want when you’ve returned home, but for now show your family some respect.” Thomas opens his mouth -Tweek hopes it’s to argue that point- but her attention has already moved on. “And you, Carl. I appreciate your feelings, but may I remind you that this is a funeral and not your local bar. Keep it civil.”

“Yes, Aunt Margaret,” Carl responds. Mr. Tucker says nothing.

“You miserable, old bitch,” Craig says, breaking the silence. Tweek looks at him with wide eyes and finds him looking defiant, his suit jacket torn open and his entire posture aggressively set. Tweek thinks that he looks really quite beautiful in that moment. “I hope you rot. I hope you all rot.” He turns, taking one of Tweek’s hands from around Trish. “Come on Tweek, Trish. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Craig starts walking them away from the graveside and the last stragglers who have no doubt just witnessed the entire show. Tweek is bewildered and not a little frightened. He’s always known that some people have an issue with gays, but he wasn’t prepared at all for how it would feel to be confronted by it. It’s confusing and unreal. Why would anyone think holding Craig’s hand is so terrible? If he’d known then he wouldn’t have taken Craig’s hand would he? Even though Craig needed it. Was it worth the brutal display it had incurred?

“I’m so-”

“Don’t you _dare_ apologise, Tweek,” Craig interrupts him. His voice sounds raw with pain and Tweek can hear the barely choked-back tears in it. “Don’t. You’ve done _nothing_ wrong.”

“Our family sucks,” Trish adds, squeezing Tweek’s other hand. “Really sucks.” Her voice catches too and Tweek can’t help feeling so sorry for them both.

Craig stops. They’re surrounded by gravestones and the rest of the Tucker clan are nowhere to be seen. Tweek looks from Craig to Tricia. They look lost and sad and so very much like the children they are. Despite the arguments and scary name-calling, Tweek resolves himself to do what he can to be strong for them. He reaches out with each of his arms -one around Craig’s waist, the other around Trish’s shoulders- and pulls them into himself in a hug. They both go willingly, all fight gone out of Craig as he curls into him, face burying in his shoulder. Trish hides her face in his chest, clutching his suit jacket. He guesses that she’s going to leave tear stains, but he really doesn’t care.

Mr. and Mrs. Tucker find them like that a couple of minutes later. Mrs. Tucker is gripping Mr. Tucker’s hand and she sends Tweek a soft, grateful look when she meets his eyes. Tweek nods and slides his gaze over to Mr. Tucker. His heart immediately goes out to him. He looks like he’s aged ten years and has gone a pallid grey colour. He too meets Tweek’s eyes and when he does Tweek can see that they’re bloodshot and red-rimmed with fresh tears.

Mr. Tucker gazes at them, eyes taking in the boy cradling both of his children so tenderly. “Boys, I don’t know what to say…” he says weakly, honestly. It’s one of those scary, rare situations where the adult clearly doesn’t know what to do or say. Tweek usually hates those situations, but right now he feels a surge of protectiveness instead.

“You don’t have to say anything, Mr. Tucker,” he says, surprised at how sure his own voice sounds. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken Craig’s hand, but that man had no right to be so mean. She was your mom and it was horrible of him to argue with you.”

Mr. Tucker nods. His eyes glint with fresh tears. “That’s very mature of you, Tweek, but there was nothing wrong with you taking Craig’s hand. That shouldn’t have happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

Tweek shrugs helplessly, not sure how to respond. If he’s honest, he’s still in shock and when he reflects on it later, he’ll probably be upset about it. But right now, his primary concern is for the Tuckers to feel better.

Mr. Tucker looks to Craig, eyes growing sadder, if that was at all possible. “Son… I’m so sorry.”

Craig pulls back to look at his dad. His face is flushed and Tweek can’t see his eyes from this angle, but he suspects that they’re wet. “Our family sucks,” Craig says. He’s trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but his voice is too raw and clotted with tears. 

Mr. Tucker only nods. “Yes, they do.”

“I don’t want Tweek around them ever again,” Craig says, firm.

Mr. Tucker sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I appreciate that, Craig, I really do but I’d like to show my face at the wake. Even if we only stay for one drink, I want to at least see her off. I know it’s selfish-”

“You’ve lost your mom, Thomas,” Mrs. Tucker says softly. She turns to look to Craig. “Please, Craig. Just for a little while. For your dad?”

“Yeah, show them we’re not running away,” Trish adds, looking up at her brother with a fierce expression.

Craig is silent for a moment as he considers the request. Slowly, he turns to Tweek. “It’s your call, Tweek. You’re not related to these assholes. You’re under no obligation to take their shit.”

Tweek feels himself twitch. His natural instinct is to panic under the pressure of such a decision. If they go and make things worse, Craig and his family could grow to hate him. If he insists that they don’t go, he’s robbing a man from saying goodbye to his mother. Tweek feels his breathing pick up as a nauseous feeling hits him right in the chest feeling a lot like the time a football slammed into him.

‘ _Hold it together_ ,’ a voice hisses from deep within himself. ‘T _hey need you. You_ have _to be strong because they need you_.’ It doesn’t dissolve the building anxiety, but it gives him a sharp jolt out of his spiral. He has to fight his way out of it, and when he does it still chases at his heels like an angry, nipping dog, but somewhere along the way he finds a sliver of resolve and grips onto it.

“Let’s go to the wake, Craig. She’s your Grandma and you should all get to say goodbye. I don’t think anyone should take that away from any of you,” Tweek says. He feels proud that his voice only wobbles a little bit.

Mr. Tucker’s expression softens into open gratitude. “Thank you, Tweek. If anyone has anything to say, we’re out of there.”

Craig nods, but his grip on Tweek tightens.

—

 

The wake is held in Craig’s grandma’s house. It’s been thrown open for the family and local community alike.

As they pull up, Tweek notices that it’s a hive of activity, although it’s subdued, giving it a weird effect that feels oddly sinister. The house is quite impressive, albeit a little neglected with its white paint peeling and tatty in places. Overall though, the house of a woman with a comfortable amount of money. This surprises Tweek since the Tucker family _he_ knows don’t seem to possess any great wealth. He can only assume that Mr. Tucker hadn’t been provided with much in the way of handouts throughout his life. 

Mrs. Tucker turns in her seat to face the three kids in the back. “Craig, why don’t you show Tweek where you used to play?”

“Sure,” Craig replies distantly, busy distractedly scanning the house.

“Any trouble, come tell me,” she continues. The look on her face is deadly serious. All Tweek can do is nod.

They disembark, piling into the street. Tweek hovers next to Craig, unsure of what to do until Craig makes the decision for him, seizing his hand. Mrs. Tucker sweeps her eyes over the group and nods, ferrying them up the steps and into the house. Tweek can smell the heavy scent home-baked pastry before they even enter, and his belly grumbles with fierce admiration.

Once they step over the threshold, Tweek lets his eyes sweep over the foyer and stairs. The house isn’t enormous, but it’s a fair size. It’s painted in neutral tones and looks surprisingly clean and modern, with the exception of the odd knick-knack decorating any viable surface. Tweek is led along through the first double doors on the right into a parlour where Mrs. Tucker moves them to a spot in the corner. “I’ll get drinks,” she says.

Mr. Tucker nods, scanning the room with a somber expression. Tweek’s heart aches for him again. He guesses that Mr. Tucker grew up here, but he honestly doesn’t know. He’s always assumed that Mr. Tucker is from Colorado. He feels guilty about that, realising that he knows less than he thought about Craig’s family. After this is over, he resolves to learn more.

A woman with fiery hair approaches them. When Mr. Tucker notices her, she opens her arms for a hug. He steps into it and she gives him a squeeze and a pat on the back.

“Thomas,” she says warmly, her painted smile stretched wide. “It’s been years.”

“It has,” he replies. “Seven- eight?”

“Beatrice’s wedding,” she agrees. She stops to look over Craig and Trish, although Tweek notices that her eyes skim over him as if he’s not there. “Oh my word. Look at how you’ve grown, Craig. You’re becoming a strong, handsome man now, aren’t you. I bet you’re a real heartbreaker.”

“No. I’m-”

“And little Tricia, you’re becoming such a pretty young lady. The last time I saw you, you were tiny!”

“Yes, Pru, they shoot up like weeds,” Mr. Tucker nods. “And this is Tweek Tweak, my son’s long-term boyfriend.”

“Hm,” she comments, giving Tweek the barest glance. “So how are things in Colorado?”

Mr. Tucker and this Pru lady talk for a minute or so, but conversation dries up quickly. Craig holds his hand tighter. Tweek is pretty sure that he’s upset about this woman’s attempts to pretend that Tweek isn’t real.

“I don’t care about being pretty,” Trish huffs, crossing her arms as she walks away.

“That’s your job, brat,” Craig says in an extremely dry voice. “Grow up pretty and marry a nice man who’ll take care of you when he isn’t in prison. Gotta make them babies.”

“Alright, Craig,” his dad says softly, soothingly.

A couple more people approach Mr. Tucker to briefly catch up. They react to Tweek in much the same way, which he supposes is their version of being polite. It sort of stings, but he prefers it to the confrontation at the graveside. It surprises Tweek that even some of the younger family members don’t acknowledge them. He’s grown used to the idea that fear of gays was a generational thing, but in this family it seems very much alive at all ages.

After some twenty awkward minutes, Mrs. Tucker encourages Craig to show Tweek around the house. Craig relents, linking his fingers firmly with Tweek’s and pulling him away. Trish tags along too, stating that she wants to get away from ‘ _these misogynist losers’_.

Craig’s tour is hardly exhilarating with his deadpan delivery, but as he moves from room to room he gradually lets down his defences. When they head upstairs and the number of guests thins out, he shifts from talking about what a room is to what memories each room holds. A bathroom where he once poured so much bath foam that he’d pretended it was snow. A bedroom where he used to sleep on stopovers and his Grandma would sit on his bed and read him a story. He’d always enjoyed three billy goats because he thought the troll was cool. He adds after a brief hesitation that the real reason had been because she did the funny voices. She’d been good at voices. Tweek feels himself relaxing as he listens to Craig’s voice, but notices the prevalence of crucifixes hanging on the walls.

When Tweek comments on this, Craig shrugs. “My family are pretty religious. Or they say they are anyway. They’re deeply religious when they’re preaching about men committing sodomy, but they’re happy to forget about the bible frowning on extramarital sex, or children being born out of marriage.”

Tweek fidgets, looking at one of the crucifixes nervously. Suddenly he feels like it’s watching him. “How come your dad isn’t the same?”

“I’m guessing that it’s my mom’s influence. Plus I guess Father Maxi is pretty cool. I’m no expert, but he seems to think that God made us all the way that we are and loves us for it. I mean I heard he used to suggest sending kids to ‘pray the gay away’ camps, but he stopped doing that after Butters went. If he’s the one delivering Sunday sermons, I’m guessing that it helps the levels of acceptance we have in South Park.”

“I guess there’s no Father Maxi around here.”

“Nope. Just assholes,” Craig says with finality. Tweek guesses that he’s done talking about it as he gestures to a hatch in the ceiling and tells them about the attic instead. Craig says that it’s big and dusty and full of treasures from the past. He casts about for some tool or other to open the hatch up. He leaves Tweek and Trish waiting nervously on the landing as he slips into his Grandma’s room, returning after a minute with the first pleased expression Tweek’s seen on him in days.

Craig stretches up, easily hooking open the hatch, and drags the steps down.

“Open sesame,” He says dryly, leading the way up the steps and disappearing into the hatch.

“I’m going too!” Trish declares, following her brother with almost cartoon-like haste.

Tweek brings up the rear. He’s seen far too many horror films and read too many urban legends to be comfortable with entering a dimly-lit murder attic. With each step he climbs, the hairs on his arms and neck rise and his heart rate quickens. By the time he’s reached the second-to-last step, he’s nearly hyperventilating, but he presses on ahead. If there is a murderer up there, he’ll take the blow from the axe to save Craig.

Tweek doesn’t stop to reflect too much on the fact that he’s casually just thought that he’d die for Craig.

When his head breaches the hatch, he’s surprised to see that the attic looks nothing like they do in film. It’s brightly lit, sunlight filtering in through good-sized windows. There’s a few stacked boxes, and none of the creepy, old furniture covered in sheets and ready to leap out at someone. Someone even put a couple of rugs down over the floorboards to make the room feel homier. They’re old, but not threadbare, still plush enough to feel pleasant under Tweek’s shoes.

They poke around through the boxes but find little of interest: some old records, a collection of Hummels, a typewriter and old toys. Tweek is disappointed; the fear has worn off and he had begun to entertain a fantasy of finding a mine of old photos, or maybe some ancient home video that they’d have to set up onto a projector.

When he offhandedly comments on this, Craig shrugs and says that he thinks anything memory related is probably getting passed around downstairs.

Eventually, they grow bored and sit in a loose circle on one of the rugs. Tweek doesn’t question why Craig doesn’t seem eager to interact with his family. “Is there something wrong with Colorado? Everyone here says it in a funny way,” Tweek asks instead.

Craig snorts. “No idea. They probably think it’s some Godless, liberal den of sin where men cavort around in the street with each other, and women visit the abortion clinic once every other week.”

“Oh…” Tweek stops to think about that. He’s never really known anything different to South Park. He visits Denver and Colorado Springs sometimes, and once he visited San Francisco. He’s not the best travelled, partly due to his parents’ commitment to the coffee shop, and mostly due to his abject terror towards the thought of flying.

Once again, Tweek is struck by the realisation that he has been very sheltered. For all its faults, South Park is somewhere he feels mostly safe. Certainly for being himself.

“Don’t forget the part where women go out and work. They must hate that mom earns more than dad,” Trish drawls.

Craig nods, but otherwise says nothing. His posture is pensive and he looks like he wants to be very far away. Judging it safe, Tweek shifts to sit closer to him. He covers Craig’s hand with his own and leans in to press their sides together.

Craig flips his hand, linking their fingers. He turns his head to meet Tweek’s eyes. He almost visibly lets his guard down, stiff shoulders relaxing, his expression taking on a vulnerable edge.

Without thinking, Tweek leans in suddenly and presses a soft, warm kiss to his lips.

“Gross,” Trish murmurs, but when Tweek looks over at her with an embarrassed, little laugh, he catches her smiling.

After a short while has passed, Craig squeezes his hand and slips his fingers free. “Come on. We can’t hide up here all day.” Tweek wants to argue otherwise, but reluctantly, he supposes that he’s right. Trish groans but scrambles to her feet and together they all descend the steps back onto the landing.

Craig is pushing the steps back up into the hatch when an older man with characteristic ginger hair appears behind them on the main staircase.

“Just what do you think you were doing up there?” He sounds mad. Tweek feels himself flinch, alarm twisting in his gut.

Craig stares at him, looking confused. “Looking in the attic?”

“Oh, I just bet you were,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Tweek can see that a couple more people have moved to stand behind the man and he wonders if they’ve come to investigate the sudden commotion.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Craig asks, annoyed.

“You come here and wave this _filth_ in all our faces and then you defile your own grandmother's home with your unnatural ways!”

“Dude, what the fuck? We were just looking through old boxes,” Craig argues back.

“Oh I know what your kind are like. You little cocksuckers will fuck anywhere.”

Tweek gasps at that, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. He and Craig haven’t made it past heavy petting yet. The thought of having full on sex at their age, in a stranger’s house after a funeral is obscene. He struggles to understand how anyone could even think that. 

“ _Excuse me!_ ” Craig barks. His voice is raised in a way that Tweek has only rarely heard before. There’s emotion in his voice too, hot and strong. “Dude, you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. We’ve never even _had_ sex. We’re _kids_. And even if I was the kind of sick fuck who’d do it at my Grandma’s wake, I wouldn’t do it in front of my fucking _sister!”_ This raises a scoff from the other man. Craig bristles, lip curling into a sneer. “But then, I hear that’s what people like you enjoy. How’s the gene pool looking?”

“What did you say, you little faggot? How dare you speak to me like that!” The man thunders. His sagging face has gone so red that Tweek’s mind passes him the briefly entertaining image of it exploding. He’s too stunned to smile though. He’s too stunned to even shake. He’s never seen such open hatred before, let alone had it directed at _him_. He’s trying but he simply can’t reconcile someone holding such feelings over his and Craig’s relationship. Not when Craig makes him feel happy, and strong, and capable of doing anything. How could someone think it so legitimately terrible?

Craig doesn't back down. His voice is still loud and strong. Tweek notices that more people have gathered on the stairs and that none of them move to intervene.  “What the _fuck_ right do you have to speak to us like that?” Craig shouts. “Your daughter has _how_ many kids with _how_ many fathers? Huh? Isn’t being born out of wedlock a fucking sin? Or do you get to pick and choose what the Bible apparently tells you?”

A brief commotion occurs when the crowd on the stairs stirs and parts suddenly like a stream encountering a particularly stubborn rock.

“What on Earth is going on?” Mr. Tucker shouts as he makes his way towards the confrontation on the landing. “Craig? Andrew?”

“Thomas you need to smack some respect into that boy!” The man -Andrew- snarls. Against Mr. Tucker’s plump form, Tweek realises for the first time how burly this Andrew is. Realises how much he could hurt people like Tweek and Craig if he wanted to. The thought is quite frightening.

“I am _not_ hitting my son, Andrew!” Mr. Tucker scowls, moving to stand protectively in front of Craig, Tweek and Trish.

“He’s got a real attitude on him, that one,” a new addition adds. Craig throws him a dirty look in retaliation.

“My son has a right to defend himself! And can you blame him? He’s just fifteen and there’s a bunch of fully grown adults verbally attacking him!” Mr. Tucker shoots back, sweeping his arm over the growing crowd. 

“He’s not too old to learn discipline. It’s your role as his father to keep him in line. If you were a real man, you would’ve beaten those fag feelings out of him by now,” Andrew says.

Tweek feels his stomach flip-flop and suddenly he’s terrified at the very real chance that he may bring his lunch up. He’s heard about gays being physically attacked on his conspiracy forums, but to hear someone voice that he would is terrifying. Scarier still, a few people are nodding and not enough of them look uncomfortable or shocked at the statement.

All that stands between Tweek, Craig and Trish is Mr. Tucker. He’s silent for a long moment, his shoulders set high and rigid. Tweek sees him as a wall in those heart-stopping moments. A wall protecting them from a hungry horde. His mouth goes dry at the thought of that wall toppling.

Then, suddenly, Mr. Tucker shifts. He steps up, drawing to full height with his meaty fists clenched and shaking with fury. “I can parent just fine without the need to abuse my children,” he hisses with such venom, Andrew backs down slightly. “My son is smart and he is resilient. He’s growing into the best man I’ve ever known and he’s been in a relationship for longer than most of you have. Who gives a flying fuck if it’s with another boy? He makes him happy and loves him enough to come into this snake pit. Should I hit my daughter too? She’s got a mouth on her. She’s fierce and she’s going to change the world because she values herself. Should I beat that spirit out of her?” Mr. Tucker pauses. He’s breathing hard as he looks around the assembled group with hard eyes. “I’m proud of my kids. I have more to be proud of than any of you. They’ll both go far and I will be behind them one hundred percent as long as they are happy.”

“You think living a life of sin will make your son _happy?_ ” Andrew argues back. Some of the fight has left him and Tweek realises that the man is a coward. He’ll threaten kids, but he loses some of his bloodlust when he’s face to face with a fellow adult man.

Mr. Tucker shoves forward and reaches out to grip the bannister, effectively blocking Andrew from his children and Tweek. “Happy like you are, you mean? Spending all of your disposable income on beer.”

If Andrew responds, Tweek doesn’t hear it as Craig snatches his hand and roughly pulls him down the stairs. Mrs. Tucker is standing at the base, pale with her mouth drawn into a grim line. She looks absolutely apoplectic and Tweek guesses that she must have heard some of the exchange. He can’t help but marvel at the restraint that she’s showing. She looks like she wants to murder. 

She grips Craig’s arm as he makes to pass her, stopping him in his tracks. “Are you okay?” She asks in a hard, serious voice. She looks at Tweek, asking him the same with her eyes.

Craig speaks for them which Tweek is grateful for. “I want out.”

Mrs. Tucker nods her head. Craig continues on, tugging Tweek with him to hover by the front door.

Mr. Tucker is only moments behind them, hurriedly pulling his coat on. He stops to look around the room with wide, angry eyes. Several nosey onlookers are still gathered, poised to whisper furiously to one another. “I loved my mother,” he announces to them. “She was a good woman and she loved her grandchildren. But if I never see any of you again, it’ll be too soon. Come on, Laura, kids. We’re leaving,” he says, firm.

None of them need telling twice. They spill out of the door and head towards where they parked the car. Mr. Tucker looks back at the house after they cross the road, stopping in his tracks.

“Thomas?” Mrs. Tucker asks, her voice gentle despite her fury.

After a moment’s reflection, Mr. Tucker shakes his head as if he is clearing cobwebs out of it. “Those people in there aren’t my family. My family is standing right here,” Mr. Tucker says. He’s somber and quiet, but Tweek almost shivers from the impact of his words. “Come on. Let’s go back to the motel and get some beers in. You too, boys. You deserve it after a day like today.”

—

 

They reach the motel after a twenty minute drive. Tweek is glad when they park up and pile out. The atmosphere in the car had been quiet the entire way back. They were retreating and it left a slightly bitter taste, but it was at least better than staying where they clearly weren’t welcome.

Some battles are worth fighting, but Tweek suspects that the prize for winning it isn’t worth the effort. He’s not naive enough to believe that the magic of love can change deep-seated beliefs overnight. It’s not a musical; it’s real life. If the Tuckers can live without the family seal of approval, so can Tweek.

“Let’s all take an hour or so to collect our thoughts and then meet for early dinner. Tweek, Craig, our door is open if you want to talk or hang out in our room,” Mrs. Tucker says.

“Okay, Mrs. Tucker,” Tweek nods.

Mr. Tucker says nothing. He wears a weary expression with an underlying sadness to it.

Craig pulls his hat lower on his head as he enters their room. His mother had given it to him as soon as he’d buckled himself into the car and he’d taken it without a word.

“I need a shower,” he mutters. “I need to wash off the stink of hypocrisy.”

“Okay,” Tweek nods.

Craig shirks his suit jacket and tosses it onto the bed in an unusual display of messiness. Then he steps into the bathroom. Moments later, Tweek hears a rattle of pipes and the sound of the shower running.

Briefly, he entertains the idea of following him inside, maybe putting the toilet seat down and sitting with him, but he thinks better of it. Craig is a reflector. He needs space to organise his thoughts and figure out how he feels. Tweek realises, as he stands alone in their motel room, that this is his time to relax too.

It’s almost like a pin pokes into him and pops him. His shoulders relax suddenly and the twang of pain that follows tells him that they’ve been held tense without him realising it. He rolls his neck, wincing at the pull and makes his way over to the mirror. He locks eyes with his counterpart, studying his face and hair. He looks tired, but not too bad. His hair is still neatly styled which tells him that he’s not been tugging it. His suit jacket is still buttoned correctly and all buttons are still in one piece. He’s faintly surprised by his appearance. Today has been stressful. No, fuck that. Today has been traumatic. Tweek has been called disgusting names and his relationship with Craig has been treated like shit on a shoe.

And yet, much to his own surprise he’s managed to hold it together. He’s made it through a day where all he’s wanted to do is scream and hit things and hide. And it was all because people he cares about needed him to be strong.

He’s not going to forget the names and the loathing, and the fact that a man implied he could get violent with a fourteen and fifteen year old boy in a hurry. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget for the rest of his life. But he’s made it through. _They_ made it through. And they’ll make it through again because Tweek has no intention of letting Craig go, even though it might be hard and scary sometimes.

It’s not a perfect end to a shit day. Tweek will carry these scars, will need to nurse them from time to time because they’re deep and raw. He’ll trust new people less than he already does and will no doubt be kept awake with stomach cramps over the nights to come. But, for now, he’s proud of himself. He’s proud of all of them. They’re definitely the better people today.

By the time Craig emerges, Tweek has been out to fetch him a soda. Tweek notices how Craig’s fingers have pruned when he reaches for the bottle. It opens with a hiss and Craig takes a long gulp before moving to pull on a t-shirt. Then he flops heavily beside Tweek on the bed.

Tweek waits for them both to stop bouncing before he places a hand on Craig’s thigh. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

Craig sighs heavily. “Honestly? No. But I guess I should, right?”

“You don’t have to,” Tweek says in a gentle voice.

“I should though. I know you like to talk through your feelings and I wasn’t the only one affected today,” Craig says. It’s remarkably mature of him. It’s easy to forget sometimes that he really is just a kid like him.

Tweek shakes his head. “Thank you, but they’re your family. It doesn’t affect me as much.”

“Bullshit,” Craig shoots back, but there’s no aggression there. “Babe they said shitty things about you. _Disgusting_ things.”

“They said those things about both of us,” Tweek reminds him. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Craig. They’re your family. I can’t imagine how much that hurts.”

Craig leans forward and rubs his hands over his face. “Okay,” he admits. “Okay it hurt pretty fucking bad. I’m not close to all of them, but I’ve known them since I was a kid. Uncle Andrew used to call me ‘tiger’ and take me out to shoot cans and eat ice cream when I stayed over. Now he wants to beat the shit out of me because of what? The fact that I’m being myself?” Tweek squeezes his thigh. Craig sniffs in response. Then he sniffs again, wetter. A hiccup follows. Finally, tears burst free, trailing down his face. “For fuck’s sake,” he swears, sounding annoyed with himself.

Tweek watches vulnerable, fat tears streak down Craig’s face. He squeezes Craig’s thigh, but doesn’t comment. It’s making his heart hurt, but he thinks Craig needs to vent.

“Above all else I just feel so ashamed. I’m ashamed that I come from them. I’m ashamed that I brought you here to be called horrible names. I barely even defended us. I’m so pissed off with myself because I just froze. I knew it would be shitty but I didn’t expect it to be that bad. I thought they’d still love or at least like me enough to try to accept. And you had to see it all. You saw how fucking shit my family are and I wouldn’t even blame you if it was making you second-guess being with me.”

“Hey!” Tweek breaks in, sharp. “You fucking idiot. There’s no way this shit makes me want to be with you any less. It makes me want to be with you _more_.”

Craig looks over at him, surprised. “Seriously?”

Tweek nods. “Yeah.”

“What, you get off on crazy rednecks?” Craig says with a small smirk.

Tweek shoves him lightly. “Don’t be an asshole,” he chides him lightly. He continues on, serious. “Craig, you are not your family. They don’t define you, you know? They scare the shit out of me and I never want to see them again, but when I think of the Tuckers, I think of you, and your mom and dad, and Trish. I think of a warm house where I feel welcome and your parents take more of an interest in me than my own. To me, that’s your family and I love them, dude. I think they’re great.”

“They’re okay,” Craig responds. “I mean the bar is set pretty fucking low.”

“Just don’t be ashamed, okay? I think you all did yourselves really proud.”

“Really?” Craig asks, sounding genuinely hopeful.

“Dude, you could have thrown me under the bus. You could have even just said I was a friend or something. But you stood up to them and so did your dad, mom and sister. It makes me feel fucking awesome,” Tweek smiles.

Craig smiles back, but it fades into a serious expression. “And the other stuff? How do you feel about the stuff some of them said?”

Tweek stares back, just as serious. He shrugs. “Scared I guess. I didn’t know people could really feel that way. I don’t get it. I don’t think we’re doing anything wrong. Now I’m worried that if we hold hands or kiss outside of South Park someone might want to hurt us. It makes me feel angry too,” he admits. “I don’t want to worry about that sort of thing. But I guess maybe it’s good that I’m aware of it now? What about you? How do you feel?”

Craig shifts. He’s different to Tweek. Where Tweek finds it easy to talk about his feelings and feels better for it, it’s not something that comes naturally to Craig. Tweek doesn’t ordinarily push but this isn’t exactly an everyday situation.

“I feel like shit,” Craig admits. “I like being gay. It means that I get to be with you and not some annoying chick. It feels right to me, like it’s just who I am, but for a second I really thought he was going to hit me. It,” he breaks off, looking like the words are sour in his mouth. “It hurt. It hurts that my family look at me and don’t see me any more. They see some kind of freak. It makes me wonder if they ever liked me at all, or if they just liked the idea of me.”

Tweek feels pity pool into his gut. Craig might not see his family often, but they’re still family. Tweek’s never really known what that’s like, but he can only imagine that losing that -no matter how distant- hurts. It’ll turn good memories sour, and will cloud all future engagements. It’s been lost for good now and cannot be returned.

Craig lets out a heavy sigh and tugs his hat off to scratch at his scalp. “Shall we go?” He asks.

Tweek nods. This time it’s Craig who offers his hand, which Tweek gratefully accepts. He tugs Tweek up to his feet and heads towards the door. It’s easy to tell that he’s been crying, but Tweek supposes that he doesn’t care this time.

They make their way over to the other room and knock. Mrs. Tucker opens it, eyes immediately going to Craig’s face. Her brow crinkles with concern and she reaches out to stroke a thumb under his eye.

“Let’s go and eat,” she says in a soft voice. Craig nods in response and hovers with Tweek at the door until Mr. Tucker and Trish join them a few moments later. Mr. Tucker still looks haggard, but colour has at least returned to his face.

He nods at Tweek and Craig. “Feel a bit better, boys?”

Craig sends Tweek a sidelong glance. Tweek answers for them with a nod. “Yes, Mr. Tucker. We feel a bit better now.”

“Good. That’s good,” Mr. Tucker looks unashamedly relieved. “C’mon, let's go and eat. I can’t leave Oklahoma without having some chicken fried steak.”

Despite the forced joviality from Mr. Tucker and the attempts at normality during their meal, Tweek _does_ feel more relaxed after they’ve eaten. They retire to the motel’s sad, abandoned pool with drinks. It’s far too cold to swim, even if the pool wasn’t in dire need of a good scrub, but it means that they’re alone and they take full advantage, occupying the sun loungers. To a perplexed onlooker they’d cut a strange image: two adults, a gay teenage couple and a tweenager all in heavy coats lying spread out on sunloungers hours after the sun has set. Mr. Tucker is nursing a bottle of scotch but no one can blame him the indulgence. Mrs. Tucker is on her fourth glass of red wine and is clearly starting to feel it as she stares out across the water being teased by a cold breeze.

Mr. Tucker had offered both Tweek and Craig a beer each. Tweek declined the offer, fearing that the police might somehow jump out at him, but Craig accepted. His non-existent alcohol tolerance had caused the beer to go straight to his head, despite its low proof. Unlike all the stories and films though, Craig wasn’t hiccuping and throwing up all over the place. It had just made him sleepy which, after the events of the day, probably wasn’t such a bad thing.

No one speaks for a long time. There is the occasional sound of Mr. Tucker’s bottle sloshing as he raises it to take a swig, and Trish hums to herself until she eventually drops off and starts snoring softly. Craig joins her after a while, still holding Tweek’s hand in the space between their loungers, although his grip loosens.

Tweek feels himself starting to drift too when the sound of Mrs. Tucker getting to her feet startles him from his doze.

She looks over at Tweek and Craig and sends him a smile. “Why don’t you come and help me get another drink?”

It’s not a real request for help. She’s more than capable of carrying a glass of wine back on her own. Tweek feels a little tremor of concern over the ask, but feels compelled to nod and get up. They walk together towards the motel bar and when Tweek spies the clock, he’s surprised to see that it’s nowhere near as late as he’d thought.

Mrs. Tucker slides onto one of the stools and pats the one next to her. Tweek obliges and parks his ass in it, waiting patiently for her to order a glass of wine for herself and a coffee for him. The bartender complains loudly at having to make a coffee so Mrs. Tucker flips him off the moment that his back is turned. Despite the day’s events, Tweek laughs and to his surprise, it feels really good.

Mrs. Tucker sends him a small grin and mouths ‘ _asshole_.’

Tweek laughs again, and then laughs louder when the confused bartender puts his coffee in front of him.

Mrs. Tucker is still smiling at him when he’s done. “Bet you needed a laugh after today.”

Tweek ducks his head and gives her a little nod. “Kinda.”

“We’re terrible, you and I,” Mrs. Tucker says with a wicked smile. “Tempting the Tucker men away from decency.”

It takes Tweek a moment to understand. “Mrs. Tucker?” He asks, feeling shy suddenly. “Don’t Mr. Tucker’s family get on with you either?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replies, sipping her glass of wine. “I’ve been married to him for seventeen years and I’m still known as ‘ _that woman’._ ”

Tweek’s eyebrows lift in surprise. It had been pretty clear that Mrs. Tucker wasn’t their favourite person, but to dislike her for seventeen years? It seems crazy.

“You know none of them turned up for our wedding?” She continues. “No one but Thomas’ mom. His own father refused to come, but she made it. She made sure she was there for her son’s wedding no matter what liberal skank bitch he was marrying. I knew from that day that even though I thought the rest of his family were huge fucking jerks, his mom would always be alright in my books. 

“Craig seems to have really loved her,” Tweek says.

“Oh, she idolised him,” Mrs. Tucker smiles. “Tricia too when she came along. She wasn’t always perfect. She could be a judgemental old cow at points, and I had to bite my tongue a few times when their family’s quasi-religious bullshit views came up. But… she was alright. She loved my children and after Thomas’ bastard of a dad died, she started to let go of some of her older-fashioned views.”

“Like Craig being gay?” Tweek asks.

Mrs. Tucker hesitates. “I don’t want to paint her as a saint. I honestly don’t know how she would’ve reacted to that. But she started to appreciate that Trish wants to be an independent woman, and listened to and accepted Craig’s explanations of the Big Bang after a lifetime of believing that the Earth is 40,000 years old or whatever. She even confessed that Obama seemed like a nice man.” At Tweek’s confused look she adds: “Her husband, Thomas’ dad, thought he was the devil incarnate.”

“Oh,” Tweek says in a soft voice. In all honesty, Craig’s grandma looked like a sweet, old lady in the photos. She looked wholesome, and warm and like she’d smell of baking apples and cherries. It’s so strange to think of her as this person. This paradox of warm and kind, with a history of intolerance and ignorance. It drives home that the people who can and will hate people like Tweek are just people. They’re capable of love and kindness and frustration and sadness. It’s a simultaneously frightening and sobering thought.

“Was Mr. Tucker like that once?” Tweek asks, curious. The Mr. Tucker that he knows is a kind man. Big, a little overweight, awkward with his feelings. He gets grumpy when he’s hungry or his favourite sports team loses, but he never takes his mood out on his children. He can be distant and it’s clear that he struggles to connect sometimes, but he does his best.

Mrs. Tucker hums in thought. “It’s been twenty-four years since I met him so it’s hard to say.”

“Did you meet him here?” Tweek asks, surprised.

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Tucker smiles. “Thomas grew up in Colorado. His father wanted to live in the Rockies so they moved here when he was young. They had a big house over in Middle Park, but Thomas ended up at my high school. That’s how we met.”

“I thought that Mr. Tucker grew up in Oklahoma,” Tweek admits.

“No,” Mrs. Tucker smiles at him. “I can see why you’d think that. It’s where the Tucker clan is from, after all, but no. Thomas is a mountain boy. His parents moved back to Oklahoma years ago. His father said it was to retire, but I suspect it was to get him away from me. I wasn’t the kind of girl that he liked, you see. Too loose with my tongue and morals.” She breaks off to shrug. “Thomas stayed for me. His selfish shit of a father cut him off after that, financially and emotionally. The old bastard didn’t like that he couldn’t control his son. Not that he was one to talk about loose morals. Ever noticed the resemblance between Thomas and Skeeter?”

Tweek stares at her, a little stunned by the overflow of information. He stops to think about Mr. Skeeter and his greying mop of ginger curls. His eyes widen and his mouth pops open in an ‘o’ of surprise. “Is he..?” He leaves the question unfinished, just in case he’s got the wrong end of the stick entirely and looks a fool.

Mrs. Tucker nods slowly. “We don’t talk about it, but we know. Men with money and a strong view on what is and is not morally correct are usually pretty quick to interpret the rules differently for themselves.”

Tweek swings his feet. He wonders if Craig suspects. He must. He’s a clever boy. Observant behind the apathy.

“Sorry, Tweek. I’ve talked your ear off with all this family intrigue,” Mrs. Tucker smiles at him. “You must be tired.”

Tweek finishes off his coffee, tracing the rim with his fingertip when it’s done. “Actually,” he says slowly. “I kind of liked hearing it. It’s where Craig comes from and makes him who he is. It’s important to me,” he admits.

Mrs. Tucker’s smile widens. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Tweek colours at that, fiddling with the handle of the cup to distract himself. “Don’t tell him that. It’ll go to his head.”

Mrs. Tucker winks at him. Then she drains her glass and stands up, swaying a bit as she does. “Do you think you could help me get them all to bed?”

When they return to the poolside, Craig and Trish are still snoring quietly. Mr. Tucker keeps silent watch over them with watery eyes. His bottle sits at his side now, his fingers resting on the lip.

Tweek carries Trish like she’s his bride, his wiry arms strong from years of hauling heavy packs of coffee to and from the store stockroom. She doesn’t stir as he lifts her. Neither does Craig when Mr. Tucker lifts him to his chest like an over-sized baby. They’re both mentally and emotionally exhausted, the day’s events having taken their toll.

Tweek, and Craig’s parents work silently, Mrs. Tucker getting each door as Tweek and Mr. Tucker separate to place their precious cargo down. Tweek places Trish atop the bed gently, leaving it to her mother to dress her for sleep and tuck her in. Then he goes back to his own room. Mr. Tucker is leaving as he arrives, nodding at Tweek and raising a big bear paw of a hand to clasp his shoulder.

“Thank you for everything today, son. I’m so sorry about everything,” Mr. Tucker says with a heartfelt, sincere expression.

Tweek shakes his head. “Please stop being sorry, Mr. Tucker.”

Mr. Tucker nods, but it’s clear that he’s feeling far too much responsibility. It's probably the curse of adulthood. It kind of makes Tweek appreciate childhood a little more. He squeezes Tweek's shoulder. “G’night, Tweek. Sleep well. 

Mrs. Tucker leans in to smudge a kiss to his brow. “Night, sweetie.”

Tweek watches them until they disappear into their room. Then he steps back into his and Craig’s room and sinks against the door once he’s slid the bolt into place. He lets out a huge breath as he relaxes for the first time in days.

Tweek lifts his hands up, faintly noting that they’re shaking. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubs them. He feels bone weary and relieved that the day is over. He also carries a sad sense of certainty that he’ll never forget today either. That it will change something in him.

Still, he thinks as he walks over to the bed and crawls under the covers, it’s also made him feel closer than ever to Craig. Like their relationship has been tested and grown more substantial as a result of overcoming it.

Tweek snuffles as he curls up against Craig. He’s too tired to even bother changing into his nightclothes. He feels safe now at least. No, that’s not it. He feels like _Craig_ is safe and that’s what matters.

It’s with that thought that Tweek finally manages to settle and drop off to sleep.

—

 

Their return to South Park brings a sense of normalcy back to their lives.

Mr. and Mrs. Tucker ended up telling Tweek’s parents that their son had experienced hostile homophobia under their care and that they were extremely sorry, but Mr. and Mrs. Tweak had dismissed it as a one-off. Tweek wasn’t sure it was the case as they’d said it. He still isn’t. The wound fades as the days pass, but he feels like the bumps of old scars will remain.

Craig has changed too. He’s more wary now. Where before he’d take Tweek’s hand or waist in a blasé fashion, now he casts a quick glance about to hunt for danger. It makes Tweek feel quite sad. He hopes that they can both start trusting the world a little more again in time.

It’s weeks later when Craig receives the letter. The temperature has dropped outside and the town is peppered in Christmas lights that shine like a million stars. Craig and Tweek spend the evening at Token’s with Clyde and Jimmy. Craig needed the distraction since his dad has been away for the last six days in Oklahoma, helping to clear out Craig’s Grandma’s home. They comment on the lights as they walk home and make plans for when they’ll see each other over Christmas. They visit Tweek. Bros coffee house en route. Tweek buys Craig a gingerbread latte and laughs as he kisses Craig’s cream moustache away after he takes his first slurp.

They wave goodbye to Mrs. Tweak and amble back to the Tucker residence at a leisurely pace, neither in any particular hurry. Snow falls around them in a gentle cascade, but Craig has forced Tweek to wear one of his jackets and mercifully it has a hood.

Mr. Tucker is sitting in his favourite chair when Tweek and Craig walk into the house hand-in-hand. Craig looks surprised.

“You’re home already?” Craig asks, toeing off his boots as Tweek unzips the jacket and hangs it on a peg.

Mr. Tucker hums in response. He looks tired and very glad to be home. “It’s mostly all done. Your Great-Aunt sorted a lot of it before I got there.”

Craig doesn’t ask if there was much left for his dad to hold on to. He suspects that the family will want to punish him for his shrew of a wife and their fag son. There seems to be a distinct shortage of compassion flowing from people who claim to live by a book that -ironically- _preaches_ compassion. Even for a man who’s lost his mother.

An awkward silence fills the room. Tweek stands frozen in place, suddenly afraid that he might make a strange twitch or noise. But then Craig moves, taking a step towards the stairs in socked feet.

“We’ll be in my room for a bit,” he announces.

His foot is already on the third step when Mr. Tucker responds. “Craig, wait.” Craig pauses and sends his dad a quizzical look. “At the house- I found a letter addressed to you. I think it was from Grandma. I left it on your bed.”

Craig’s entire posture changes. He grows tense and sends his dad a short nod. Then he resumes climbing the stairs with Tweek in tow, both treading a track so familiar that Tweek thinks that they should have their footprints embedded into the carpet by now.

The letter lies innocently enough atop Craig’s duvet, the bone-white envelope stark against navy blue. Craig eyes it as if it’s a frightened animal before moving to perch at the edge of the bed. Tweek moves to sit to the other side of the letter and places his hands on his knees. Silence falls between them. The letter waits on the bed like a third wheel that doesn’t realise that it’s encroaching into their bubble.

Tweek doesn’t have to ask Craig whether he’s afraid to open it. It’s not fair to push him and make him say it aloud. Tweek’s worried for him too. The letter could be entirely innocent: a wish for Craig to have her old records, another cheque for a hundred dollars, or a note from when he was much younger that she’d forgot to give him. It could be any of those thing, but Tweek suspects that it’s not. It makes him afraid for Craig. He doesn’t need his heart broken any more than it already has been.

Finally Craig sighs and reaches for the letter.

“I can leave if you need me to,” Tweek offers.

“No. I’d really rather you be here,” Craig admits, fingering the envelope. Slowly, delicately he runs his thumbnail under the fold and opens it up. The tack gives way with a little rip and then it’s open. Craig flips it in his hand, sliding the contents into his waiting palm. A4 writing paper neatly folded up. It’s definitely a note.

Craig’s eyes lift and lock into Tweek’s. He looks apprehensive but seems to take some strength away from that moment of eye contact. He lowers his eyes again, opens out the letter and begins reading.

Tweek watches him as heavy silence fills the room. It settles over them thickly, permeating every nook and cranny until it feels almost viscous like treacle. Tweek shivers once but otherwise keeps his eyes locked on Craig’s face.

Craig gives nothing away until he’s finished. When he looks back at Tweek his eyes are shining with unshed tears. He doesn’t look heartbroken. He’s smiling slightly and Tweek feels overwhelmed by relief.

“I get the feeling that she would have loved you,” Craig says in a thick voice. He clears his throat and sets the letter to one side. He draws his legs up onto the bed and parts them, patting the space between them with his hand. Tweek goes willingly, leaning against his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Tweek feels Craig relax. Really relax.

“Thank you, Tweek,” he says quietly.

Tweek only nods. He doesn’t need to say ‘you’re welcome’. Craig is always welcome. Because being in a relationship is about being stronger together. It’s not just all about Craig believing in him and making him feel like he can do anything; Tweek can be strong too and can bring out the best in Craig.

Sure they’ll continue to have petty fights over petty things. They’ll have misunderstandings and stubborn bouts of selfishness. But they’ll also have this. They’ll always have this.

Anyone who disagrees can, with respect, get fucked. Because Tweek is a de facto Tucker and proud of it.

—

 

_To my dearest Grandson,_

_I’ve not been feeling too well lately and when you get to my age, it makes you start thinking about the inevitable. I still feel eighteen sometimes, but my old bones disagree with me something rotten._

_I wanted to write this letter to you in case I don’t see you this Christmas. I'm a silly old woman sometimes but I just have a feeling. Hopefully I’ll be wrong, but in case I’m not, I had some things that I wanted to say._

_Your father mentioned last week that he wanted me to meet someone special over Christmas. He didn’t say any more, but I suspect that I’m going to meet_ your _someone special. I’ve known for some time that you’re courting. No one's ever said anything directly to me, but things your father has mentioned on the phone got me thinking. Us oldies don’t go out too much, you see. It gives us a lot of time to think. You’re going to be fifteen soon, and you’re growing into such a handsome young man. It’s only natural that you’d be courting._

_I’ve also suspected for some time that you might like boys. If I’m wrong, please forgive me, but I am a mother and a grandmother and a woman’s intuition is often right. You never showed interest in young ladies, or told me that you have a girlfriend. For a long time I thought it was because you weren’t ready and focussed on studies, but as you grew older I grew more sure. Every time I speak to your father you’re off spending time with a young man named Tweak (is this a nick-name?). I don’t think your father even knows he gave you away, but I can’t remember the last time I had a phonecall with him where you weren’t off somewhere with this Tweak. You seem to be attached at the hip!_

_I haven’t said anything until now. I wish that I had because we’re close and I know that you don’t like keeping things from me. Your father was the same when he began courting your mother and I fear I’ve repeated the same mistake._

_I’ve been pretending for a long time it will go away and you’ll grow out of it and find a nice girl. I’m upset with myself for thinking it, but please understand that I grew up in a very religious household. These things just weren’t talked about, even though we knew it was happening. We pretended that it didn’t exist until we couldn’t pretend any more. Then we’d turn to Jesus and ask for Him to take the sin away. For a while I prayed for you. I prayed for Jesus to help you through your confusion and find the right path._

_But then your father mentioned this special someone last month. It upset me, but I realised that I was upset that my own son doesn’t feel like he can tell me about you. He wants to protect you from me and it hurts terribly. But his father, your Grandfather, had strict views and were he still alive, I’m ashamed to say that your father_ would _need to protect you._

_I realized I was being a silly, old woman. So I finally sat down and thought about it. I really thought about it for the first time. I thought about how much I love you and how proud I am of you and I realized that if you are courting a young man, you are still the same Craig. You are still my big, handsome, smart grandson and you will still do more with your life than I have ever dreamed of. I can’t pretend to understand being gay, but I’ve seen enough television to understand that it’s not a choice. The only choice you get is to be happy or unhappy and I would rather that you be happy. I did what was expected of me my entire life and whilst I have a beautiful family I cannot truly say that I was always happy. I don’t want the same for you, Craig._

_Part of me still thinks you can find a nice girl and have a family. I’m afraid for your future happiness when there are people like my husband in the world. But no matter what, I love you and I will try my best to support you._

_I will tell you all of this in person, God willing. If you’re as smitten with this boy as I suspect you are, I look forward to meeting him._

_All my love,_

_Grandma_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I get the impression that underage drinking in the US is a big deal, so my apologies if Craig being given a beer at 15 by his dad is a big no-no.


End file.
